xoxoxo
by thir13enth
Summary: A bunch of RoyRiza fluff, drabbles, and shorts: for the man who tries too hard, and the woman who doesn't understand why she loves the idiot. Royai? Hell yeah.
1. Blind

**As a very quick introduction to what this story is going to be: just a bunch of Royai shorts of every kind, depending on what ideas come up. I could have gone ahead and made each one its own separate and independent story, but instead combined them into one story because ****1)**** they are quite short ****2)**** I'm trying to keep my writing profile a bit organized**** 3) ****I already have **_**more than enough**_** Royai (wait…is there even such thing as more than enough Royai?) ****4)**** I'm too lazy to go into the guidelines and rather dutifully agreeing to the agreement every time I make a new story ****and 5)**** a compilation is better than a oneshot at illustrating all the different aspects of Roy and Riza. :) **

**So, this story is more or less a dump for inspirational orphans to mingle and of course, multiply.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Blind<strong>

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><p>After several days of nonstop worry, Hawkeye was finally able to go see the disabled Mustang.<p>

"You can go in now," the nurse gently told her, leading Hawkeye down the hallway to the fourth door on the right. The nurse took the doorknob, knocked, and after a second, slowly opened the door to Mustang's room for her.

Hawkeye thanked her and stepped into the pristine hospital room. Seeing the completely white walls in the small room, her breath caught in her throat and she felt out of place. The room was almost completely unfurnished, except for the window with white blinds that let in bright sunshine, a small table that had a clipboard on top, as well as a nightstand. There was an analog clock too, on the wall opposite her, and two chairs as well, intended for guests or visitors like her.

But she wasn't planning on sitting, and strode up right next to the white sheeted bed where her colonel lay.

His eyes were unfocused, but it was clear he knew who had walked in with at the sound of her military boots, with the silent tremor of the ground under her gait, with the swift whish of her coat, with the soft fragrance that could only belong to his dear…

"Lieutenant," Mustang greeted warmly.

"Colonel," she said in the same manner.

"I haven't heard from you in a long time."

"Neither have I, sir."

"I can't tell, but I'm pretty sure all this time indoors hasn't done my complexion very good."

"It hasn't. You don't seem fit for even a hospital."

He flinched. "That hit my ego."

"Can't be helped. With all due respect, sir, your ego is quite large."

Mustang removed his hands from under his head and lay on his side facing Hawkeye, propping his head up with his left hand. He looked up in the general direction of her talking, and gave her a playful smile.

Genuine, she could tell. Even blind his eyes shone like clear cut obsidian.

"Geez," he sighed, "giving your higher up a hard time even while he's disabled…why don't you cut me some slack now that I'm injured and all?"

"Out of pure curiosity, sir, when do you do _any _work?"

"Touché," he replied wryly. "Let's try this conversation one more time," and before Hawkeye could object to anything, repeated, "Lieutenant."

She played along, sliding a chair over to the bedside and sitting. "Colonel."

Quickly: "I haven't heard from you in a long time."

"Neither have I, sir."

"I can't tell, but I'm pretty sure all this time indoors hasn't done my complexion very good."

"…No sir, you're looking as dashing as ever."

"Oh?" and she saw that in his straight face, he couldn't help a devilish smile from curling his lips. "Well I do admit that I always make sure I look my best."

"Need not worry about that, sir."

His eyebrows raised. "And why is that, Lieutenant?" his voice dropped to bass, face nearing hers. It was amazing how acute his hearing was to target exactly where her lips where.

"Well sir," she replied, her voice lowering as well. "Simply without any effort at all, you are _always _ashandsome."

"Is that right?" He leaned in further, his warmth grazing her skin, mouth at her ear, voice now a husky rumble, "As handsome as?"

A rare smile flashed as she sardonically whispered back, "As handsome as Fullmetal's height and the soot in Havoc's lungs."

Mustang flopped onto his back in frustration, and the bed bounced in the same agony. "Oy, Lieutenant, you don't play the game well," he groaned. "And for the moment, I thought you actually meant it," he added with heavy sarcasm.

"I apologize, sir. I don't descend to that level of conversation."

Mustang sighed. "Lieutenant," he said after a moment.

Hawkeye almost rolled her eyes at him to exaggerate her irritation. "Colonel."

"I haven't heard from you in a long time."

"Neither have I, sir," she replied, the response being well rehearsed by the third repetition.

"I've missed you," he murmured, turning his head to face her, cheek resting on the pillow.

It took Hawkeye a second to realize that he wasn't going to attempt to repeat the entire conversation all over again, and another second to process that he had said something remotely sentimental.

And so she skipped her turn and he spoke again.

"I've missed working with you at the desks, having you do all the work. I've missed the way you step into the room and how you go about gracefully doing things, how I could just hear the concentration trickling off your skin," he said, beginning to slur into visualizations from memory. "I've missed your voice, how you try to keep your melodic voice to a straight army-fit shout, and hell, I've even missed the sharp tongue and how you always demand more from me than I do of you."

She said nothing, finding it more suitable to hold the silence in her breathing.

His eyes trailing upwards to the ceiling, eyes looking indefinitely on one of the tiles above, but she could tell he was seeing from what he remembered, the dark pupils of his onyx eyes longing—craving—for light, sick of the eternal night.

"But you know what I miss the most?" he said, the words slipping off his tongue. He let the question linger in the air even though he knew she wasn't going to answer, and continued a moment after, "I miss _seeing _you—your chocolate caramel eyes and dirty blond bangs, always always tied up behind your head in a tight bun. I've missed the rare smiles and how your eyelashes shade your eyes whenever the smiles are real, and all your faint facial expressions that I could just _read _your thoughts off the curves of your face."

He poetically stopped a moment. "It's so much more silent now that I can't see you; because what you say out loud is only a fraction of what you express."

He suddenly turned his head towards her again, and her heart stopped when his eyes rested on her directly, targeting precisely where she was.

His hand didn't do as well as his eyes, and unfortunately curved below from her face to meet the thick military fabric over her breasts.

His hand snapped back, but that didn't stop from triggering Hawkeye's anger at the indecency, despite all the innocence that he pled through the blush that rose in his cheeks.

He apologized quickly, but she interrupted him.

"Colonel, I _do _know that you regained your vision yesterday morning."

His eyes suddenly focused onto hers, and she read a genuine 'oh shit' off them.

"…I thought I told the nurse not to tell you."

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><p><strong>Royai: for the man that tries too hard, and the woman who doesn't know why she loves the idiot.<strong>

**Wow, this actually ended up longer than I expected.**

**thir13enth**


	2. Coup d'Etat

**Damn. I should update faster. But alas, I have craploads of work to do.**

**I decided to repost this one, needing some inspiration, and see what I can come up with for one-shots, since the current Royai long story that I'm working on is surprisingly very demanding.**

**:P In any case, enjoy! THANK YOU FOR THE MASSIVE NUMBERS OF FAVORITES/ALERTS! And there's quite a number of reviews on this already! Thank you guys so much for the support, you guys really keep me coming back!**

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><p><strong>Coup d'Etat<strong>

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><p>Hawkeye cocked her gun, squatting with her right leg stretched out and back hard against the wall, eyes surveying the scene outside of the window.<p>

"_This is the most important day," Mustang stated, scanning the eyes of the soldiers in front of him. _

Throwing a coup was easier said than done.

"_This is _the _moment we've prepared for since the beginning."_

The idea wasn't new. The initiative was.

"_I'm putting trust in you," he continued. "All," and his eyes grazed briefly over Hawkeye's._

She was the one that told him to stop talking and to start doing, silently encouraging him flesh out his visions for what he thought was right for Amestris. She didn't think she had actually done anything but nod and agree to his plans—everything was thought of by him—but he still regarded her in the light of being his muse and inspiration.

_There was a pause, and the air sizzled with anticipation, excitement, fear._

_Mustang looked down at his pocket watch._

"_We start now."_

And so here she was, up in a higher part of a building straight across from the one they were about to infiltrate. She was to make sure that the rebellion wasn't ruined, if in case while the coup was going on inside, that the rebels were not locked in from the outside because of government forces circling in on the attacked building.

Course gravel crunched.

She flicked her head toward the entrance, as well as her rifle barrel.

Hands up with a greeting on his face was the Colonel himself.

"I thought you were supposed to be waiting on the southwest corner," Hawkeye said, lowering the weapon's aim. Her biceps relaxed for a moment, and she slowly rose in militaristic respect to half salute the standing commander.

"I was," he answered, a bit uncertain.

Hawkeye said nothing, and waited for an explanation.

"Well?" she finally asked when his eyes cast downward, almost in shame of some sort.

"I have someone covering me in that section," Mustang replied, and when he saw in her stiff pose that that wasn't the complete answer she was hoping for, he added, "I had to switch plans. I had to take care of something else first."

"Switch plans?" she repeated, in more of a statement tone. "I wasn't there for the initial debriefing."

"Right," he suddenly seemed to remember. "To Plan B."

Her eyebrows furrowed. That didn't give her any more information.

Mustang sensed her question and then looked left and right. His mouth twisted in hesitation and his left hand beckoned her to come closer.

The room was tapped?

Understanding, Hawkeye pulled over toward him a few steps.

He leaned over to put his mouth to her ear.

Imprecisely.

A gasp from her, but she couldn't breathe in because his lips were in the way.

He felt a ripple of surprise crawl down the muscles of her back and pressed his left hand firmly down to calm her, his right hand kept up at her jaw to tilt her head in the right angle, concave of her waist fitting the convex of his hip.

She stood there, frozen, but then closed her eyes for a few seconds before her eyelids flipped open to see that now his eyes had opened to see her reaction, crinkles of a smile gathering at the corners of his eyes with a light sparkle of the confession in the onyx.

Hawkeye felt her mouth curve into a rare smile, slowly breaking off the kiss and withdrawing back.

A forefinger followed her lips.

"Shh…" he whispered, keeping her mouth shut with a finger.

"This wasn't part of the plan," she replied softly, brushing off his hand.

Leaving, he shrugged and straightened his military coat.

"This is a military operation. Nothing ever goes as planned."

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><p><strong>:) <strong>**Cheers,**

**thir13enth**


	3. Under

**Well, well, it's been a while since I've updated this. But the time has come for more Royai! And without further ado…a little drabble!**

**(I promise I'll update my other fanfics and compose more one-shots so hang in there with me!)**

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><p><strong>Under<strong>

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><p>Hawkeye sighed, leaning against her shovel and taking a quick break.<p>

It had been a while since physical labor was actually part of the job in the military.

She wiped the sweat off her brow quickly, looking up at the tireless sun and was quite dismayed to not see a cloud in sight.

"Remind me again why we have to help out with the road work?"

The raven-haired man beside her wryly answered, "The military these days are just expected to help with everything civilian when we're not at war."

She took a moment longer before picking up her shovel once more. "I definitely did not sign up for this," she muttered under her breath.

"Is that my lieutenant…_complaining_?" Mustang asked in great surprise.

"Yes," the blonde affirmed. "And this sun is the hottest thing I've ever been under."

"Oh that's not true," the colonel retorted, siding up to his subordinate.

One of her eyebrows cocked up at the flame alchemist, wondering if he was actually questioning her own _opinion_.

"I mean," he clarified, rather huskily. "You've been under me, haven't you?"

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><p><strong>Heehee, ;)<strong>

**thir13enth**


	4. Dominance

**Sorry I haven't updated this in a while! I sorta kinda miss you guys but I've been pretty busy occupying myself with things like life so it's been a bit difficult to get some words down! In any case, here is my update!**

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><p><strong>Dominance<strong>

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><p>"I'll put money on it," Havoc said, kicking his legs back over his desk. "Black hair."<p>

"Yeah, black hair for sure," Catalina agreed.

"But if it's a girl, I feel like it'll be blond hair more," Fuery argued. When he noticed the subsequent silence afterwards, he defended himself. "What? I mean, we have to take into account _all _the possibilities."

Catalina shook her head vigorously. "No…I still think it'd have black hair; you're just projecting what you know onto it."

"Exactly," Havoc said, slumping into his chair even more. "Well I mean if you're still contending that, I'd be willing to bet some money on it."

Catalina scoffed, while rolling her eyes. "You know that at the rate they're going at, you might not get that bet money until a decade later. You should find some other way to pay your rent."

Armstrong harrumphed, loud and exaggerated. "So tall or short?"

"Well hopefully tall."

"But they aren't too terribly tall themselves…"

"I'm sure it doesn't hurt to be optimistic."

"If anything, high cheekbones and a very cute smile."

"Now that's just being too optimistic—"

"Brown eyes!"

"I can see that."

"Nah…probably black."

"Doesn't it depend on what gene is dominant?"

"Well then, which one is dominant?"

"Probably black…"

"Then I'm betting on black."

"Wait so black hair and—"

The four of the debating military staff zipped their lips and whipped their heads to the door, watching a lieutenant and colonel prance in, back from their lunch break.

"Lieutenant…I have a whole day to finish the proposal," the black-haired flame alchemist explained, trying to catch her eyes. "And besides it's not like it's urgent at all! I can do it later this week even!"

The blond lieutenant was indifferent to his excuses. "Deadlines are deadlines."

"Well yes, but—"

"Finish it."

"But—"

And now Hawkeye's eyes stared straight through Mustang. "Finish. It."

Mustang backed a bit—was that fear in his eyes?

"Okay, okay!"

Once the two of them had passed, Catalina frantically turned back to Havoc. "Actually I change my mind. Brown eyes."

"Yeah for sure."

"Brown's definitely dominant."

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><p><strong>Yeah, it was light and fluffy but I hope you enjoyed it!<strong>

**thir13enth**


	5. Checkmate

**Hey guys, this one is actually an edit from what used to be a one-shot. I read it over again and I wasn't happy with what I had written so I decided to rewrite it and delete the original version. (I feel so much better about this version than I do with the original, lol.) I happen to also be in process of cleaning out my profile and stories to make everything a bit neater, so deleting an extra story and tacking it to this seemed like an efficient thing to do.**

**Anyway, it's been a while since I've updated this or any other Royai stories but unfortunately I've been busy with real life. Hopefully I'll be able to churn out another round of Royai soon though!**

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><p><strong>Checkmate<strong>

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><p>"Checkmate," Mustang declares.<p>

General Grumman does not at all seem surprised. In fact, he looks quite expectantly at the chess pieces, as if he had been waiting for Roy to beat him one day.

Well, damn Grumman's 97:1 win ratio. Mustang finally beat the geezer.

Grumman changes the subject, not allowing Mustang to boast his new found victory on the game board for too long. "Mustang, have you ever thought about getting settled?"

"Not extensively," Mustang replies, beginning to place the chess pieces back to start position.

"You know what would make me happy?" Grumman says, after a moment. "I would be very pleased if you were to take my granddaughter's hand in marriage."

_That was rather blunt_, Mustang thinks as he places the black queen back on her spot.

"You're jumping the gun," Mustang replies after a moment. "I have goals to fulfill."

Grumman says nothing and slouches back into his chair.

Mustang sets the last king on the remaining square—its rightful position aside the queen—and stands up to bid the General good night.

"Oh you can keep the board," Grumman adds conversationally.

Halfway out the door, Mustang turns to question the General, but the General answers before the colonel can formulate the words.

"I've gotten quite bored of chess," Grumman explains.

Mustang rolls his eyes as he packs the ivory and onyx chess game into its maple polished container.

"In other words, you don't want to lose to me again," Mustang concludes, a smirk perched on his lips.

"She's a simple girl," Grumman replies.

Mustang decides to change the subject as well.

"Thank you," Mustang says, walking out the door.

He isn't sure if his gratitude is about the chess board.

**sometimefollowingthat**

"That's a rather large diamond," Mustang comments, pointing out a ring to the left of the window display.

Hawkeye is dispassionate. He watches her eyes from the corner of his. She isn't considering the showcased jewelry, choosing instead to keep track of the time.

"You're not interested in jewelry at all, Lieutenant?" Mustang teases. "I'd think that as a woman, your eyes would be glued to the display."

"I don't need the luxury," she answers, briefly looking up at him.

"Oh," Mustang says, slightly taken back.

He worries that this also meant she doesn't want any burden placed on her hand.

"You need to get back to work," Hawkeye tells him.

**lateron**

He sits with Hughes for lunch today.

"So, uh…" Mustang starts, bracing himself. "I have a question."

Hughes's face morphs into a concerned frown. "Something serious?"

Mustang lets out a half-exasperated sigh, knowing what he was about to get himself into. "Tell me about your engagement?"

"Oh! That's my _favorite _story to tell—aside from all of Elicia's adventures, course!" Hughes exclaims, the worried atmosphere completely turned around.

Mustang nods, leaning back into his chair to make himself comfortable.

"So what happened was that I had everything prepared a long time ago. I found her favorite restaurant and we went on a date that night. She ordered blah blah blah blah blah and I kept debating in my head blah blah blah blah but finally decided to blah blah blah blah but my bladder blah blah blah blah was dessert time and I practically begged her to blah blah blah blah then I thought blah blah blah blah pocket blah blah blah blah nervous blah blah blah blah waited blah blah blah blah propose blah blah—"

"Wait, I didn't catch the last part," Mustang interrupts, sitting up once again.

"Oh uh…." Hughes retraces himself. "So then at the end of the meal, I leaned across the table and held bother hands in mine, and I saw how perfectly small hers were, and I kept looking at her fingers. And then I proposed! I told her that the time that I've been together with her have been the best times of my entire life, and that I wanted to make that time last forever. So then I stood up and god down on one knee and asked her if she wanted to marry me! It was the longest and shorted time of my entire life and she screamed a yes and we were all happy that I missed her ring finger and put the ring on her middle finger or something but that didn't matter because she was so happy and I was so happy. We hugged, we kissed, we cried, we got applause—"

"Ah." Mustang nods.

"We had to start planning right there! I don't think either of us slept that night—"

"I see," Mustang says.

"Okay, so I told you that already." Hughes smiles. "But what I haven't told you was about picking my suit. I wanted it to be casual but serious—"

"Mhm."

Hughes groans, leaning back into his chair. "I knew I wouldn't be able to keep your attention for that long…what was I thinking when I thought for that split second that you were actually going to be receptive to my stories?" Then Hughes' eyebrow cocks up mid-sentence. "Say…you stopped me at my proposal."

Mustang doesn't offer him a reaction.

Hughes has a knowing grin planted on his face, his face lit up like he had just discovered true alchemy—how to create gold from stone. "Don't tell me you're getting ideas for yourself?"

Mustang says nothing and keeps his eyes looking bored.

"You know you think it's well overdue."

Mustang sighs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I mean you guys have developed so slowly."

The colonel shakes his head, feigns ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"This is all about _Elizabeth_, isn't it?" Hughes finally explains, face close to Mustang.

"Don't get ideas," Mustang replies.

Hughes sighs. "You guys aren't going to go anywhere if you keep avoiding each other."

Mustang gives Hughes a hard look, but Hughes continues.

"Should I be your consultant? Or maybe I can create the ultimate plan for—"

"So what did Elicia do yesterday?"

The mood flips again.

"Oh! Elicia was so adorable yesterday with her—"

**anotherday**

Mustang fixes his tie as he walks out of the office from his afternoon naptime, heading toward a meeting with the Fuhrer.

Hawkeye waits for him by the door, but before he passes her, she stops him.

"Colonel, you look completely disheveled."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "So what?"

"Clean yourself up."

"I'm going to be late."

"It takes less than a minute to neaten yourself."

Mustang attempts to move past her but a firm hand on his chest restrains him.

"No, that's completely unacceptable."

"It's okay—"

"If you can't tie a tie, just admit it."

He stops and narrows his eyes at her. "Is my _subordinate_ telling me that I can't tie ties?"

Unfazed, she looks back at him with the same composure.

"Well then, I'll show _her_," Mustang growls, pulling apart the knot and looping it around his neck again, a series of fluttering and confused fingers.

Hawkeye is unimpressed by the tangled mess that is the end-product. She sighs and pulls his tie down, bringing his neck to her level. And while Mustang's heart is in his throat, Hawkeye straightens his collar and makes the perfect Windsor.

She slicks his hair back. "Now go."

But he doesn't.

He leans his left hand on the wall and brings his face lower and even closer to hers.

"You know," he says. "Your grandfather's the Fuhrer now. Why don't we go celebrate his promotion toni—"

"_You_ are not Fuhrer yet," she interrupts, slipping past him and out the door.

**moretimepasses**

Mustang is quite sure that he'll become Fuhrer right after Grumman, but Hawkeye nevertheless doesn't let him slack off.

"Then it'd just be military man appointing military man," she says. "It wouldn't be democratic."

When she sees his downward cast eyes, she adds, "And you've always strived for a democracy."

As he refocuses back on the never ending stack of paper, he reminds himself of his past's plans for the future—

A democratic nation and…

And although everything is coming just within his reach, he finds it even more and more difficult.

**whenfinally**

Now he finds it even more difficult—even as Fuhrer.

He convinces himself that he is busy, that the paperwork piling up in his office has to be taken care of first before anything else.

But one afternoon, standing alone in his new office room, he finds himself with absolutely nothing to do.

And absolutely no courage.

He still doesn't know what is holding him back.

He had been _so _ready before becoming Fuhrer, but now that he has the clear cut chance, he finds that he can't. He had been putting it off day after day, and he fears that too much time will pass.

At the same time, he tells himself that the next day would be a better time.

And the next day he'd tell himself the same thing.

**then**

While looking out the window to see the sunset paint the evening sky, he realizes that he couldn't keep pushing himself back.

He feels her walk into his room, coming up from behind him. He keeps his eyes at the melding orange, red, and yellow of the dying day.

Would he let another day pass that he couldn't spend with her?

"You're Fuhrer now," she says, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah," he agrees. He fingers the ring in his pocket.

Why was it _now _that he couldn't meet her eyes?

"I've been waiting for this forever," he says. He gathers the courage to face her. "I'm at the top…and I was just waiting for the right time to make a move."

She doesn't say a word, just steps in toward him, her breath on his lips.

"Checkmate," the Queen whispers, having cornered the King.

But he captures her with a silver band.

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><p><strong>:) Review?<strong>

**thir13enth**


	6. Cold

**Hey all again! Glad to be on this site updating in the midst of all my busy-ness in college! **

**I recently took up a writing challenge for this year, where I have to write at least 1K words each week based on the prompt...and I'm already behind. In fact, I haven't even really started with the first week's prompt...lol...**

**So I'm sorta cheating again...I'm in the process of clearing out my Fanfiction account so this is actually a repost from at least four years back! And it was my first fanfiction in Fullmetal Alchemist! Anyway, I present to you...**

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><p><strong>Cold<strong>

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><p>They only did this once in a while.<p>

His calloused hands caressing her back, his breath resting on her skin, her heart shuddering in a delightful scare, cold air blowing the warm hair off her neck.

...

His hands were first cold when she entrusted him with flame alchemy her father so laboriously studied and researched.

He was a bit nervous, maybe tense and worried about her reaction to him bringing up anything related to her father, who had passed away only recently. She could tell he had recited the same line over and over again, just to get the right tone to ask her, as well as practicing responses to whatever her reply might be.

"Your father…" he had started, and paused for a split second to watch for any glaze over her eyes. "He said…that you had his research."

"I do," she responded.

"Can—" and he stopped himself. "Do you trust me with it?"

And she had been preparing for this question ever since her father took him as his student.

She still didn't know what to answer.

"Yes," she finally said, after a moment's pause.

He stood there, not sure what to say or do after the one word answer.

He opened his mouth to ask another question after a good five minutes of pressured silence, but she interrupted him by pulling off her black turtleneck sweater. She didn't bother to look at his face, by the silence alone, she knew he was bewildered, maybe more confused.

Only when she turned her back to him and unclasped the rest of her clothing did he understand.

Her skin prickled at the air rolling over her exposed back. The last time she had ever felt that way was when the research was actually being written.

She didn't sense any movement so she was surprised when his voice was right over her head.

"…May I?" he asked.

She bowed her head in acceptance, and though she braced herself, she still tensed up at the touch of his cold fingers. She gasped silently, but he felt the suppression under his fingers and froze.

"S-sorry," he apologized, stammering.

She said nothing, almost urging him to just continue in her lack of words and movement.

"Here…just sit down, or…um—" he suggested, but she already anticipated his words and lay flat down on a nearby sofa. Though his fingers were no longer on her back, the ghost of them lingered like mist.

She felt the depression of the left side of the sofa cushion where he seated himself. She could feel him draw a deep breath, as quietly as he did, and then reach over his hand again to touch the alchemic tattoo scrawled over her back. She closed her eyes and let the frigid sensations run across in a circle, over each character, each mark, each line of the black design.

She could hear his awe at the intricacy of her father's work. It radiated from the way he brushed over her back, skimmed across the information that she had never really wanted to see for herself.

And so he continued his studies. Late into the night, almost daily.

She would just close her eyes and let the ice run down her back.

...

His hands burned her too when she demanded that he rid her of the information she carried with her life.

He was a bit nervous, maybe tense and worried about to him using her father's own flames against her. She wanted the burden from her lifted however, even if the ink weighed nothing. Only he knew the complete story behind flame alchemy. Not even she wanted to know it herself. She feared that she might use it for the wrong purposes.

After all, flames made anger, hatred, and hell.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"You're not going to," she replied.

His silence told her he thought otherwise.

She turned her head, and smiled at him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize."

She could feel his hands hovering over her back.

And then, pain.

She bit her lip, maybe too hard, and focused on the taste of bad iron on her tongue.

She knew the fire would hurt, but she wasn't aware how much.

But it was still less painful than being the root of the most powerful, most destructive alchemy.

It didn't matter how long her father toiled, neglecting her against his will.

It didn't matter that all the sacrifices her father had made were now gone.

It didn't matter that now she had nothing to contribute to the future.

It was still less to carry when she passed.

She was so concentrated on ignoring the pain and telling herself that the pain was less than what she would deal with at death that she didn't notice she had fallen to the floor until she reawakened, his concerned brow over her face.

He had spilled cold water all over her, and her back still hurt like hell.

Tears that were long backed up, she released, pressing herself against him.

And so she closed her eyes and cried.

...

Years later, her burns healed, the new skin obstructing the alchemy.

She had trusted him with herself, that wouldn't try anything while she was defenseless that first time her naked back faced him, her arms busy covering herself. She had also trusted him to use the flame for good. She now trusted him with her life, and for the future, letting herself turn a back on him, trusting that he would watch it for her.

He only burned the littlest bit he could.

But he made sure to tend to her scars the most he could, too.

Every so often, he'd massage moisture over the dry and charred skin.

Each time, she'd close her eyes and treasure him.

...

This time, he stopped suddenly.

Her eyes snapped open.

"…Riza?"

It was awkward to hear her first name, rather than a military title.

He never called her Riza.

"Yes….Roy?" She tested the name on her tongue.

"Have you ever thought about…you and me?"

But the feel of Roy on her tongue would never work.

Her back was turned to him, but he knew her well enough to read her silence.

She wasn't sure what it was. But there was something that didn't let them be together, be it the past or the future.

Still, he was content, as she was as well.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

><p><strong>So it wasn't quite Royai-more like an angsty Royai piece...Let me know what y'all think! Reviews make the world go 'round!<strong>

**thir13enth**


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